We're The Winchesters
by caitewarren
Summary: AU.4 Archangels,4 Winchesters. The loyal son, the trickster, the serious and the rebellious one. Destined to be vessels of the archangels, spans their childhood.Life on the road is never easy. Especially not with the Winchesters
1. Chapter 1

~No one's family is normal. Normalcy is a lie invented by advertising agencies to make the rest of us feel inferior."~

On a particular hot sticky August night they found themselves lying down on a patch of dry grass in front of the motel room. The heat inside the room had become unbearably hot so rather than suffering inside of the room, the four had decided perhaps going outside would fare better.

"I bet hell isn't even _this _hot," moaned Henry who was flopped onto his stomach with his face in the grass.

The only response he got was a pile of grass being thrown at him. None of the Winchesters were particularly enjoying the heat. It was damp and moist. Their clothing was sticking uncomfortably to their sweat coated skin. They'd spent their afternoon rotating fanning one another and attempting to fix the busted air conditioner. All attempts at that had gone horribly wrong only making them even more frustrated. It was the second night in this town, their father, said a week top. In a week they'd be melted puddles of sweat.

"Look a star!" Sam cried pointing to the small twinkling little orb of light, "make a wish. I wish for Dad to get home safely and stop hunting."

For a few moments the only sound that could be hear was the low murmuring of the crickets. It was a wishful thinking, but highly reasonable.

"I wish the air conditioner worked." Henry muttered breaking the silence.

"I wish that Dad would stop leaving us behind and just take him on the hunts." Dean said.

Nobody spoke for a few moments as they all silently starred at the rising full moon. The stars looked so oddly different from place to place. Some places they were abundant and shinning brilliantly in others only a little shone. They all liked it better when they did shine. Since they were young they'd often point out different shapes in the sky, it started out innocent enough, circle, square, triangle, but turned more and more perverted as they grew older.

"What about you Kenzie?" questioned Sam.

Mackenzie sat away a few feet away from her brothers. Her black hair tied tightly into a bun that rested above her head, her hands resting on her stomach, she heaved in a deep sigh.

"I wish that there's a purpose for us." She admitted softly.

**SPN**

Coming home or rather to whatever motel they were staying at was often a much more joyous experience than going on one. The fear that it could be _his _last hunt was always pressing in the back of his mind, in constant replay that he may never return home to his kids. Some days he'd reason with himself that the kids weren't so young anymore, Dean was fourteen, the twins twelve and Sam was ten, they could all cook, and drive, but underlying he never wanted to leave them. Some days he has to fight himself to go back on the road to the hunt where innocent people who needed him. Or the monster that killed Mary, that still needed him.

Life on the road was never easy. Not with four wildly different kids, and especially not _with _Henry. Whose mastermind schemes and plots had landed all of them in the E.R. The boy was a genius, an evil genius.

Sometimes he wondered if his children were raised in a stable home if they would turn out the way they were. Would Dean be as committed to his siblings as he was now? Would Henry be secretly plotting planks against everyone? Would Mackenzie be as serious and as practical? Would Sam want nothing more than to be different? If, if, if, there was no way he could ever truly know if they'd turn out that way.

Years of coming home to complete surprises had braced himself for the most unexpected things, but he never thought he'd find his children asleep on the grass _outside _of the motel. His boys all shirtless, dressed only in sweats, his daughter was wearing a thin white t-shirt that was quite a few sizes too small, and a pair of shorts so short he wasn't quite sure they qualified as shorts.

An idea spurred on him, he pressed hard down onto the horn of the car, emitting a long honking sound. His children spurred awake almost instantly, jumping upward and glancing around, with wide sleepy eyes. It was Dean who'd pulled a knife from out of his pocket and was starring around with murderous eyes.

"Oh it's only _you_," scoffed Henry.

John felt himself smirking at the notion that he'd caught the prankster off guard. Sam was the first to stagger to his feet, evidently his sleepless state hadn't completely worn off as he began to walk forward.

"I thought you'd be gone another few days."

"The hunt was a hoax." John answered simply.

Just a nut job in the woods, John thought bitterly to himself. All the times and dates and info sounded like a Wendigo, but when push came to shove it was just another lunatic's story.

**A/N: To continue or to Not? **


	2. Chapter 2

**1986-Blue Earth, Minnesota **

"Actually quite the contrary," Pastor Jim muttered, "I agree with you."

The pastor was an aged man. It shone through his dark eyes. The pain and hardships he'd faced as a child. Nearly being drowned by his mother and all of the stuff that had concurred after it. For a pastor he was quite contradictory of what a usual pastor was.

"If they are to train they are to learn to be prepared." Jim murmured in a hushed voice as they neared the room that the children were sleeping in.

The door as always was left open just a bit. John pushed the door further open. There was one queen sized bed inside of the room and his children barely managed to fit themselves on it in the oddest sleeping arrangement he'd ever seen. Henry was wedged against the wall and the bed, half of his body resting on the wall and the other half on the bed. His bare feet hung off the side of the bed. Mackenzie slept on the edge of the bed at Dean's feet, hanging dangerously close to the edge of the bed. Dean slept on his side taking up as little space as possible as Sam slept sideways in the bed. Slowly and as quietly as he could John reached the bed, gently shaking Dean who woke upon the touch.

"Dad?" he muttered in the darkness. His eyes blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. His blonde hair was tasseled. Pieces stuck up at odd ends and from varying angles.

"It's me," John said, "get dressed."

Dean delicately slipped out of the bed careful not to move too much to disturb Sammy. The three-year-old stirred lightly in his sleep flopping onto his belly before drifting back to a deep slumber. Mackenzie stirred awake, sitting up quickly and nearly falling off the edge of the bed before saving herself by clutching onto the edge of the comforter.

"What's going on?" she questioned in a hoarse whisper rubbing violently at her eyes desperately trying to wake herself up.

John sighed deeply, "go back to sleep, Bubble Bee." He crossed around the bed and gently shook at Henry's shoulders and whispered, "come on Henry, get up."

His son let out a strangled noise that was a mix between a cat and a clarinet. It was clearly evident that he was certainly not a morning person. After persistent shaking his eyes groggily opened.

"Where are Henry and Dean going?" inquired Mackenzie.

She never wanted to miss out on anything her brothers did _especially _Henry. It was yet another twin thing. They always had to sit together when they ate or did anything. She most certainly was not coming to shoot a gun.

"No where, Kenz." John mumbled softly as a zombie like Henry walked along the darkness of the room with his arms stretched outwardly.

Dean grabbed him by the shoulders leading him to the shared family duffel bag. John wasn't sure whether to be pleased or alarmed that he'd managed to shove all of their measly belongings into one rather large oddly green colored duffel bag. On one hand it meant that it made traveling easy, just one bag. On the other it was quite depressing to think they really only had that duffel bag, a few shotguns and the Impala to their names. The boys for the most part had been recycling large t-shirts he'd brought at a Salvation army, Mackenzie had a few articles of her own clothing but nothing in comparison to what she had back in Kansas. Mary couldn't help herself she'd buy her new dresses almost every day or new bows or new shoes. She'd certainly be appalled by her daughter's wardrobe at the moment but nearly as appalled or horrified that her seven and five year old sons were going shooting. She didn't even like the old riffle he kept in the back of their closest, saying small children got their hands onto everything. _I'm sorry, Mary, I can't let anything happen to them. I can't be there all the time._

After some coercing by Pastor Jim, Mackenzie fell back into a restless sleep. As carefully as he could John lifted the tangled blanket out from underneath Sammy and placed it over the two of them and tucking them in tightly. John pressed lingering kisses to their dark heads of hair before standing.

"Let's go boys." John announced sparring one last fretting glance at his slumbering children before looking away.

Jim's house was secluded by acres and acres of forests. Two acres. It'd be perfect. John led them into the small living room. The pair sat shoulder to shoulder on the sofa. In appearance they were nearly identical, same colored dirty blonde hair, same light skin, but it was their eyes that differed. Dean's a dark green around the iris rimmed by a lighter green with small gold flecks in them and Henry had a vivid light blue coloring. In different shades and amounts of light Mary's eyes changed. Between shades of green to light blue shades, but mostly they were a pale blue color. She herself said her eyes were blue. There was a line of freckles scattered over Henry's face in a light covering but Dean's were only on the bridge of his nose and underneath his eyes.

"Boys," John spoke gravely. Dean instantly snapped his head up but Henry stared off behind John in a daze, "today we are going to learn how to shoot a gun," John reached behind him running his hand along the coffee table reaching for the hand gun resting on the table. Taking it he held it out in his palm.

"Is that real Daddy?" Henry questioned suddenly interested.

"Yes, very. I want you two to know that there is _no _playing with guns. No _take backs _like in rock paper scissors. None. First and foremost you never point at anything or anyone unless you intend to shoot," John said, "and never do you ever point it at_ each other _or your brother or sister, or at me. Only at the bad…," John paused for a moment struggling to think of the right way to phase it. Dean certainly knew, his memories of the fire and watching the incident with the shapeshifter, an event witnessed by Henry as well but at only two and half at the time his memories weren't quite as solidified yet.

"The bad thing that killed Mommy?" suggested Henry in a small voice.

"Yes," John replied softly, "the bad thing that killed Mommy."

Henry pouted and crossed his arms on his chest. For a moment or two it looked as though he was constipated.

"You all right there?" John questioned chuckling lightly.

"I'm mad." He announced in a very deep monotonous voice.

John raised an eyebrow, whilst trying his best to stifle his laughter. Rather he let out a few snorts before being able to control himself back into the seriousness of the situation. He explained each and every part of the gun to them. For the most part they seemed to be intently listening and even eager to go out and try.

Being outside in the woods was one of Henry's favorite things. He pointed out every animal and everything he knew the name of. He pranced around, skipping and humming loudly. It was times like these that John was nearly positive that his son had ADHD or something of the sorts. He never seemed to want to sit still.

"Here we go boys."

**SPN**

After a few hours of shooting John was sure of two things: one: Dean was a natural and two: Henry was the complete opposite. Whilst Dean bulls eyed each and every bottle, Henry hit everything else possible, including a rather unfortunate rabbit. A rabbit Henry named Joan, who they demanded they had a funeral for. Which was why they were standing underneath a large oak tree just behind Pastor Jim's church.

"Joan may god rest your soul," Jim said mystically whilst doing the sign of the cross over the dead body of the rabbit.

John picked up the shovel and began to pour shovel of dirt on top of the bloodied rabbit until he was no longer in sight.

"Bye, bye." Sammy softly cooed.

**A/N: reviews are truly loved.**


	3. Chapter 3

**1992 **

"Dad," eleven-year-old Kenzie spoke.

It was just past midnight. The last few hours had been spent in the car whilst rain poured heavily onto it. It was one of the most miserable car rides of their lives, and one of the most dangerous. The mountainous roads had lead to many trick curves and ditches, John was sure they'd surely go over the side of the mountain and hurtle to uncertain death.

His heart hadn't stopped pounding. It'd been nearly twenty-three, twenty-four minutes, since they'd arrived at Caleb's cabin. He had quite a good laugh about it. He glanced up wearily from his journal. Kenzie was a skinny thing, all bones and especially pointed elbows. Henry would complain about how she'd elbow him in her sleep. She was one of the most serious people he'd ever meet.

"Hey," John mumbled taking a sip of the Jack Daniels that rested on the table.

She cast her eyes to the floor, starring intently at the carpet, dragging one foot along it. Lines became visible on her forehead as she pursed her lips. Something was clearly bothering her.

"Dad….," she paused for a couple of moments heaving in a very deep breathe, "I know what you do."

John felt himself gag on the beer. Out of all the things he imagined she'd say, this was the last of them.

"I know what you do when you go hunting…what you kill. _I've _seen it, seen them," Kenzie said fiercely. There was something about her in this very moment that reminded him of Mary. It was something in the way she spoke, "when you think I'm sleeping in that car, I've been watching…..I wanna help….help kill the thing that took…," her voice become very low as though she were telling a secret, "mom."

"Kenz," John began.

"Why do the boys get to do it?" she said in a near whining tone.

She'd never whined before. Not ever. It just wasn't her. Hunting and guns they didn't belong in the hands of little girls, especially not her. She was fragile. Tiny. Broken easily. He couldn't imagine her facing off against shapeshifters or werewolves. They'd tear her to shreds. She wouldn't be a hunter, he vowed it to himself, every year.

"I want to be a hunter Dad," she said defiantly, "I want to do _something_. She was my mother too."

John pushed himself up from the table. For a moment he saw stars. Shakily he made his way towards her, placing his hands on her thin shoulders, holding them firmly. He stared down at her rounded face, her big eyes. He ran his thumb gently across the beauty mark underneath her left eye. _That's where the Angels kissed you_. Mary would tell her.

"No," John said.

Her mouth gaped open and she muttered something incoherently before twisting violently out of his arms and stomping up the stair case. _Way to go John, good job_.

**SPN**

"Whatta are you doing slamming doors like that?" questioned Dean pushing himself off the top bunk and landing softly onto the carpet in front of his sister.

"Damnit Dean, don't do that!"

Curses and other foul language had been apart of their lives for as long as any of them could remember. Over the summer at Bobby's, they decided to start a swear jar. Every time someone swore they had to put a dollar in the jar. Over the course of that summer the jar had nearly two hundred dollars. Something they'd split four ways and for the first time in their lives had pocket money.

"Since when do you curse?" Dean questioned folding his arms and leaning against the bed post, raising one of his eyebrows.

She gave him a dirty look, "what does it matter to you?"

"Because you're my little sister and you're eleven," Dean said, "and little girls don't curse."

"I wish everyone would stop calling me _a little girl_!" she screeched.

On the bottom bunks both Sam and Henry began to stir. Sam sat straight up rubbing at his eyes.

"What's going on?" he mumbled.

"Jeez Kenz wanna scream any louder? I don't think people in China heard." Dean remarked.

She ignored his comment and the questions of her younger brothers as she climbed the latter to the top bunk.

"Goodnight Dean," she said sharply as she pulled the covers over her.

**The Next Morning**

It was peculiar. All of the guns, every single one, were gone. Emptied from his locked weapon box, there were no sign of any forced entry, meaning it was one of his kids. _Henry_. The kid had no idea what personal space, or don't touch this, means.

John pounded heavily onto the wooden steps walking into the kid room. Henry was in a curled ball on the bottom bank bed. The blankets had been kicked off in the middle of the night. Drool was hanging out of the side of his mouth.

"Looking for these?" a voice questioned.

John paused midway to shaking the boy awake. On a wooden chair, Mackenzie sat cross legged, a shotgun resting across her lap. The duffel was visibly behind her.

John sighed, "very funny."

She grinned leaning over the side of the chair picking up bullets. Taking one she slowly loaded the gun, cocking it slightly. She'd never held one of them before but she'd watched from a distance, watching her brothers disable and reassemble guns. She wasn't quite sure where the safety was or where anything was but she let felt satisfied when it clicked together.

"Put _the _gun down."

"No."

"Mackenzie," John growled out, "I am not playing games here. Put the gun down before you hurt yourself or anyone else in this room," she didn't move, "that wasn't a suggestion that was an order. If you want to be such a little soldier than you better god damn well learn how to listen. Put the gun down right now, Mackenzie before I come over there and smack it out of your hands."

Tentatively she lowered the gun letting it drop out of her hands and tumble onto the floor. John walked forward grabbing the duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder and taking one of the guns.

"I knew how to put to load the gun."

"There is a lot more to guns than just loading it," John muttered, "Mackenzie Jude, stay out of my stuff, away from guns do you understand me?"

"Yes sir."

"Go back to bed."

**A/N: Reviews please!**


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